Page 8 of Crimson Shadows
I rush upstairs, throwing open my wardrobe and grabbing armfuls of clothes. I shove them haphazardly into my largest holdall, along with my laptop, chargers, and a few treasured books. I grab the framed photo of Mum and me from my bedside table and place it in the middle of my clothes to protect it.
Randall appears in my doorway. “We need to go, Adelaide. Now. The sharks are circling.”
I zip up my bag and nod, my heart racing. This is really happening. Randall scoops up the bag as I sling my backpack over my shoulder, and I pause in the doorway, looking back and wondering if I will ever see this place again.
Slowly, I take the stairs, my thoughts a swirl of emotions and turmoil. Am I doing the right thing, blindly walking off into the night with Randall? I don’t know anything about him. This could be a trap. Maybe he is a Hunter. I dismiss that thought. My mum knows the details, and she wouldn’t let me walk into an ambush. Would she? She has lied to me for two decades after all. Shaking my head, I tell myself to stop. She had her reasons, and if all of this turns out to be true, I get it. I probably would’ve done the same thing to protect my child. I don’t blame her.
No, I blame Randall fucking Black.
I glare at him before I turn to Mum and hug her one last time. “I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too, sweetheart,” she replies, her voice thick with emotion. She hands me a lunchbox with sandwiches and crisps stuffed in it, and I smile. “Thanks. I’ll ring when I can. Assuming I can,” I frown and shoot Randall an inquiring stare.
He raises an eyebrow. “Whyever not?”
Whyever not, indeed.
I follow Randall out into the night, my heart thundering in my ears. A sleek black car idles at the curb, its engine purring softly.
“Get in,” Randall says, opening the passenger door for me before he throws my bag in the back.
I hesitate for a moment, glancing back at our small terraced house. Mum stands in the doorway, tears glistening on her cheeks. I want to run back, to tell her I’ve changed my mind. But the memory of Wesley’s face, the intensity in his eyes, his question, and the chase propels me forward.
I slide into the leather seat on autopilot, stashing my backpack at my feet. At some point, all of this will catch up with me, and then I know it will be a case of crash and burn. I just hope the damage isn’t too extensive.
As we pull away from the curb, I crane my neck to keep Mum in sight for as long as possible. When we turn the corner, and she disappears from view, I feel like a piece of me has been left behind.
“Where exactly is MistHallow?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the growing ache in my chest.
“Of sorts, in Kielder forest,” Randall replies, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “In the Northumberland National Park. It’s... well hidden.” He glances at me with a knowing look.
“Of sorts,” I murmur.What the fuck does that mean?
I have no idea, so I nod, not trusting myself to speak further. The reality of what I’m doing is starting to sink in. I’m leaving everything I’ve ever known to go to a school for supernatural beings. With a man I’ve just met who claims to be my father.
Addy, what have you got yourself into?
3
ADELAIDE
The car glides smoothlythrough the night, streetlights flashing by in a hypnotic rhythm. I stare out the window, watching as the familiar streets of my hometown give way to the unfamiliar countryside. The silence in the car is thick and heavy, with unasked questions and unspoken truths.
Randall clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I know this is a lot to take in, Adelaide.”
I snort, unable to help myself. “That’s the understatement of the century.”
He sighs, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I understand you’re angry with me. You have every right to be. But I hope you’ll give me a chance to explain everything.”
I turn to look at him, really look at him for the first time. His profile is sharp and aristocratic. In the dim light of the car, his skin seems almost translucent. It’s strange how I can see bits of myself in his features—the shape of his nose, his eyes, his hair, that superior look he gets that I’ve been accused of getting.
“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “Explain.”
Randall takes a deep breath. “Where to begin?”
“How old are you?”
He snorts. “Wow, okay, going in for the kill. I am one thousand, five hundred years old.”
